


Barechested

by sxetia



Category: Chrono Cross
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Relationship Study, Trans Character, self-indulgence, takes place before fort dragonia, trans male serge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxetia/pseuds/sxetia
Summary: He was who he was, regardless of this reality's insistence that he didn't exist.
Relationships: Serge (Chrono Cross) & Kid (Chrono Cross)
Kudos: 9





	Barechested

"Oi, Serge," Kid mumbled out through a mouthful of fish. "Them scars — where'ja get'm from?" 

Ass in the sand, rocks at her back, and a thumb crudely stuffed into her gullet to force the last of their fresh-caught meal to the back of her throat; the closest thing to luxury she was capable of imagining. "Never much took ya the sort t'do much fightin', much less have th'scars to show fer' it." 

Serge frowned; he had hoped that Kid wouldn't ask. Splashing around in the shallow ocean surf to spear fish with his Swallow had meant that his clothing had become soaked, leading him to tuck his shorts and shirt over a few spare growths of coral that dotted the shores. He wasn't too shy to fumble about in his underwear, but he had yet to build up the confidence to wear his body's eccentricities with pride: baggy clothing and excessive layering concealed his natural shape, but when left bare it was all on display. 

Kid didn't seem to mind, though — mostly fascinated by the scars themselves rather than the body they were painted upon. 

Serge settled down in front of the fire, stoked it with some driftwood Kid had gathered, and then glanced down at his own chest. A few uneven, imprecise brown welts marred the sun-bronze tan of his skin, just below either pectoral. "It isn't anything exciting," he admitted. "Surgery fro—"

 _"Ha...!"_ Kid interjected as she kicked a leg and slapped her own knee. _"Serge_ -ry. I get it." 

Serge smiled a little. "I had an operation whenever I was younger. I don't remember a lot about my childhood so I've always had them." Intuitively he knew where they had come from, but couldn't remember receiving the scars — a part of him since birth, as much as anything was.

"Looks pretty sweet on ya, mate," Kid said, then nudged his leg with a bare foot. "Scars look real good on a man. Makes ya seem a little more scary, 'n less like a big ol' softie." She snickered and let a painted arm haplessly wave in the air. "Like, lookin' at ya now I'd have t'think you was all soft, miserable little cunt y'are." Another poke, this time a little rougher. Playfully brash, as was her demeanor. "But imagine a scarred-up bugger runnin' at ya with a big bloody Swallow in his hands, huh? Screamin' bloody murder 'n' all'a that, ready t'shove it up yer' arse..." 

Serge snorted. "I'm not gonna be doing any fighting shirtless, that's for sure." A misleading appearance could be useful, he had found – some mistook his gentleness for innocence, or his viciousness for heartlessness.

"Ya totally could, though. F'I can afford showin' a little skin, then you could bother to let loose a lil' too..." 

He found as time went on that he was in no rush to put his shirt back on.


End file.
